Bristol Prison Blues
by ridesawhitebike
Summary: What did Emily and Cook chat about then...


At 38, Senior Prison Officer Neil Weir has seen pretty much all the world come through his 12 years in the Prison Service, as far as these things went A-wing HMP Bristol was fairly run of mill, a young offender unit mostly, it was temporary home to the usual mix of TWOCers, petty drug dealers, Saturday night hard men, and the very occasional Celebrity prisoner, not that such a term would be admitted to in the Prison Service, and certainly no special treatment handed down, nevertheless SPO Weir had to admit James Cook was certainly that. The press coverage at the time of his trial and conviction had meant that he'd had more than his fair share of attention, and not all of it welcome, having a profile is never the best idea in the Nick, as several late night visits to A&E could testify, but things had calmed down now that the pecking order had been sorted, and the right respect earned.

As he walked down to his wing he reflected that as a whole most of the young men in his care probably deserved to be here, even young Mr Cook, but he's noticed that under the usual bluff and swagger there was a decent enough lad, and he hoped at least that this would be the last time their paths crossed. SPO Weir had, of course, along with his colleagues, followed all the stories in the papers, the Murdering Doctor, the revenge of the Best Mate, and the love triangle involving that disturbed girl. It read like the script of a TV show... Cook had been smart and lucky in equal measure; certainly not killing the Doctor had been smart, getting an almost guaranteed GBH reduced to Spontaneous Assault by that Brief was lucky. 18 months for the assault, extra 4 months for absconding. Out in 10 with GB and time on remand. Lucky boy. The Doctor? Not so lucky, Life in Rampton, where the proper nutters are kept, an almost poetic sentence he'd thought at the time.

SPO Weir stands in Association, and reads names and numbers for visits

"Cook, James, CFJ 40829, room 2"

Cook pokes his head out his cell

"A visitor, Mr Weir? For me?"

"Yes, James, a young lady visitor, quite nice looking, a bit skinny for my taste. So comb your hair, spray some Lynx about, and wipe the wank stains off you trousers...C'mon, I'm not waiting all morning for you."

"Emilio Lestevez, long time no see, what a surprise, you're the last person I expected to see in here"

"Yeah well, it's not really a social" Emily Frowns "Here" She hands over a phone card and 3 packets of B&H.

"Ah, cheers, spot on Emilio"

Emily stares at him, as much as Cook is happy to see a friendly face, he can sense she's not exactly overjoyed to be here.

"What's up Emilio man, you look pissed off?"

"Yeah well, I was frisked coming in here"

"Well, it would've been a female PO though right? Must have enjoyed it?"

Emily sighs, this she didn't miss, she narrows her eyes, "She was a bit butch for my tastes, know what I mean? " She's cold, harsh.

"Calm down Emilio man, what's on your mind?"

Emily pauses, she crosses her arms, her lips are a straight line across her face. She simply looks at Cook for a long minute, it's uncomfortable. Finally:

"You know who came to see me this morning, Cook?"

He shrugs.

"A fucking journalist from the Daily Fucking Express" She sighs, and shakes her head, "It's fucked up, Cook"

He nods, their lives have been, as Emily so delicately put it, "Fucked up". A whirlwind since that night of Freddie's birthday, the night he discovered the horror. The days and nights of police interviews, and in the following months, Cook had had to admit tucked away in the Prison system, he'd been spared the almost endless press coverage and intrusion the others had had to endure. Thomas and Panda had been lucky, moving to Harvard and escaping a lot of it, but for Naomi and Emily, Goa had only offered temporary respite, and as a couple had attracted both local, and then national coverage in some of the tabloids, he couldn't blame her for being pissed off. He shrugs again, a lame response he knows, he's nothing else to offer her.

"I'm sorry Ems, what can I say?"

"Fuck all Cook, absolutely fuck all", she's hard, angry.

"What did you come here for Emily?" Cook's getting wound up, life in here is hard enough without the visitors having a pop as well.

"To ask you something, no, actually, to tell you something"

"I'm all ears mate"

"This is how it's going to be Cook, when you get out of here, you fuck off, yeah?"

"Not following you"

"Don't come looking for me, for Naomi, my sister or Eff, any of us, clear?" She looks straight into eyes. "You're bad Cook, everything you touch, you fuck up. You fucked up Naomi with those drugs you gave her, you fucked Eff, My sister has been looking after her 24/7 since that night, she's put her life on hold, you understand? All the shit in my life comes back to you, we've all had enough, Eff's getting better without you, and it's even fucking up me and Naoms"

At the mention of Naomi, Cook looks at Emily, can see for the first time the pain etched on her face, understands her, she's right, who'd want to know a fuck up like him? He's known this was coming. Naomi is the trigger, how can he hurt her? He's crushed.

"You're more like your sister than you think" Is all he has to say.

Emily stands, "If it gets me what I want, I'm happy to oblige" she looks at him, turns, "I'm going, this place stinks of shit"

Back on the wing Cook is silent, he lies on his bunk, and rolls over looking at a photo of all of them taken in a pub sometime, all grinning, Freds with a pint, Emily and Naomi wrapped into each other, Eff and Katie laughing at some joke, lost now. JJ looking the wrong way typically..." Who were those people?" he thinks, look at how they turned out. He breathes deeply, controls himself, no tears in here.

Neil pops his head into the cell; he's noticed a subdued Cook return to the wing, he's seen that look a thousand times.

"Been dumped?"

Cook sucks in a breath, "Nah, she's a fucking Lezza anyway"

"Right", Neil steps in, "You need to talk?"

"Fuck off screw" It's a joke, it's not even funny.

Neil backs out, before he can leave, Cook calls out,

"Mr Weir, I need to talk to you about moving my release timing, I want to avoid the press, you know?"

"Sure, I'll set up a meeting with parole"


End file.
